Make the best of it

Just saw an ad for a webcomic (or something along those lines) that said: "Trapped in the body of an adult film star, your own body stolen by the devil himself - WHAT DO YOU DO" and I'm like.... have fun? GL with that body mr. Devil, I'm just going to enjoy myself over here (double entendre intended)!

What Society Taught Me Of Women 01

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From: here

Inget ont om Rocky, jag älskar serien.

Swedish Democrats

*reads pamphlet*

Ice: You know, if I didn't know there's complete racist idiots in that party, the Swedish Democrats sound pretty reasonable.

N: How can you say that!

Ice: Come on, listen to this: "We want an open Swedish identity where the opportunity to be a part of this country isn't dependent on how you look or where you come from. What matters is a person's values and actions. We are also always clear with that it's the politics and not the immigrants themselves that is responsible for the failures of integration."

N: You know what those people really think.

Ice: You don't even have any arguments to answer me with. And this: "Multi-culture is the ideology that a nation should be built upon widely separated values working side by side, which in practice leads to separation and segregation. We want to stand up for the Western ideas of democracy, equality, animal protection and children's rights."

N: Western ideas? In practice? Besides, how can they both be equal and not allow some people to keep their culture?

Ice: If you're like that, you might as well ask "why be equal and not allow the people who want to to have crocodiles in their basements", maybe it belongs to someone's religious faith to have crocodiles? Besides, I'm not saying the Swedish Democrats are good people, I'm saying they have a point.

N: A point that is WRONG. Imagine what would have happened to those people who had been turned away, if our politics were harsher.

Ice: Imagine what could have happened to the people who got in, if they were treated better and not just tossed across the border with the "Everyone should come" policy? One of those human rights groups had a commercial a while ago that went, "there's a difference between being alive and living".

N: That's ridiculous, they were probably referring to people imprisoned in inhumane environments or starving in a desert, not to people with houses and clothes and their families around them.

Ice: Anna, what do you think?

Anna: I leave this discussion to professionals in immigration and economics.

N: Of course, since you can't get anything out of it.

Ice: In the best of worlds, the Swedish Democrats would have made the other parties look over their immigration politics, but since we have a habit of yelling NAZI every time anyone breathes anything that could possibly be considered anywhere near negative about people not Swedish, there can't even be a serious discussion. How is that for discrimination, anyway. Equality should mean we're allowed to talk bad about everyone.

N: Hear that? You're an idol of equality to everyone, Anna.

A Quiet Birthday Celebration

Today, or rather, between yesterday and today since Korea's half a world away, Jaejoong had his birthday. I feel really happy because A) I remembered it and B) I celebrated it all on my own incentive and in a good and balanced way. That is, I fancied up a little and bought sushi and chilled. Outsiders might not be able to spot the difference between me celebrating and me not doing it, but I feel the difference quite noticeably. I didn't listen to his music to no end, I didn't watch sixteen episodes of the drama - I celebrated his birthday in the only way that truly counts; in my heart.

All of it made me think about mold and cornflakes, about the patterns in the universe and in our back yards, about the way cities grow and the way we breed animals; about how everything is one single beautiful whole, and in all that, Jaejoong is the one single thing that when I think about him I don't think about everything else. I don't think "but there is a statistical possibility that piracy actually severely damages culture in aspects that I might be ignoring because supporting free information furthers my own short-term agendas". I don't think "this book is such crap compared to what I know I'm capable of; if I'd just had the resolve I might have published my first book already, but even so, I know what I write will never be best-selling because considering mass psychology I write things too different from the general fare". I don't think, "which part of a person is DNA and which is not, and if all are, then why do parts of me contradict and what do people actually want?", I don't even think "all of this is hyped up fangirl mass-hysteria typical of my gender that enforces all kinds of woman-degrading ideas that circulate, and I am playing into the expert hands of marketing professionals that have molded some kind of public persona over whoever he is beneath".

There is always a "but", a "maybe", another view to consider, another detail to examine. Every time I look at a thread a spider web explodes in my head.

But not with him. I don't think. Every single thing - every single thing - I have found out about him, and seen of him, and heard of him, since the day I first saw his picture, has been perfect. No compromises, no thoughts, no justifications. No shrugs of "I guess I can live with that". I don't care if I never find out about the parts that some people seem to think "matters", or if I never exchange a single word with anyone in his general direction. It makes no difference who he is or how I discovered him or what he does for a living, all that matter is that the spider web goes silent. I look at him, and all I see is him. And until that stops being, god forbid that it does, I have one way to keep myself from going insane.

I am so happy you were born, Jaejoong, and I wish you everything in the world. For once, for one person, I can truly and with no hesitation say that. And I wish words could express how much I mean it.

Sunday Morning

It suddenly occurred to me that I haven't had any paralyzing or mindfucking strikes of anxiety regarding life, money or the universe in general this weekend. I've been... happy. Satisfied with my position and progress. Oh well. It's still only Sunday morning, there's still time.

OTHER NEWS: Commotion at the Cork Tree

We have earlier reported on the commotion at the Cork Tree regarding the modernizations of the cattle pens, where one of the current residents, a bull going by Ferdinand, has been conducting something of a non-violence protest - in fact, he hasn't done anything at all, including moving. We finally got past the blockade to speak to him directly.

"I understand if people want to get on with their lives," said Ferdinand, on the subject of the other cattle having left already. "It's nice to have company, but I'd rather sit here under my tree and smell the flowers alone, than listen to them talk loud and proud to each other about "not wanting to be helped"."

When we asked him what he thought of the complaints made against him, he said: "Before they wanted to make a tourist spot of this precise tree, people sighed and shook their heads and thought I was peculiar but cute, but now that they do, they sigh and shake their heads and say I am difficult and have social phobias and discuss motivational therapy or tow trucks to move me to an institution where they have painted flowers on the walls and sprayed perfume in the air. They say I cannot pay my rent by sitting under a tree smelling flowers, and cork trees are in high demand recently. But I don't think I bother anyone, really. It's not like I'm one of the new bred bulls that talk about depressing things and threaten with going to the slaughter house as soon as someone wants to leave. People actually listen to them. They just make me tired."

We asked how long he planned to continue his protest and what his actual goal was, but he did not seem to be aware of there being a protest going on anywhere, and said he didn't have any goals with his life and that seemed to be what upset people.

Footnote: A week after this interview was conducted, the flowers at the cork tree were dug up to make room for benches and a brand new water supplying system. Expressing a wish for keeping at least one flower, Ferdinand was taken away for obstruction of progress. We have not yet been able to reach him about a comment on this, but a spokesperson for Progress expressed assurances that he was "in a better place".

I think it was on Christmas Eve, late at night, after all the excitement was over, that I went outside for a little bit alone for some air. You can see stars in the city, at least my part of the city, but I had forgotten what it's like, when the night is perfectly crystal clear and there are no lights to interfere. Not just stars, but like you'd taken a handful of glitter and spread across the skies; all those small stars that you never see in the city because the sky is lit up too much. It gets so dark here on the countryside, so completely dark it engulfs you in an otherworldly feeling. It took my by surprise.

For a moment I felt completely alone in the world, and the incomprehensible vastness of space made the reality of my own mortality well up from the beast beneath. The intelligent mind likes to push it away, but the beast knows. I got tears in my eyes, maybe because the insignificance of my life and death in comparison to the stars was a bit too much for me, but mostly because everything was so beautiful. Mortality, death, distance - and the sky. It frightened me, but made me wish for more.

Beauty is cold. It is not a warm red Santa, or the glimmer in a child's eyes, or the warmth of a hug. It has nothing to do with love or generosity. Beauty is a cold mistress, a crystal constellation; beauty is smooth, hard ice and deep impenetrable darkness and distant, uncaring light. Those who confess to the god of beauty will live like skulking wolves in the borderlands of the glowing crystal ice, forever struggling against their fear of light to get a glimpse of their most beloved mistress.

My beast stared up at the stars, and for a moment it shared with me the absolute obedience and loyalty that only beasts can know. It let me feel the fear that only beasts can fear, at the border between light and darkness, and it showed me how the light burned against its skin and how it still longed and longed for it. Perhaps it was my totem sign, marking my belonging to the church of glass and razorblades. But then again, we all knew that already.